


An Ocean Filled With Air

by sequinnox



Series: Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, IchiRuki Week, Kuchiki Rukia–Centric, Post-Soul Society Arc, Rukia Appreciation Squad Assemble, and so is Ichigo, i am soft for Rukia Kuchiki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequinnox/pseuds/sequinnox
Summary: “We live at the bottom of an ocean filled with air”, Torricelli wrote once, yet she still felt like she was choking, gasping for a little more than hope. The Rukongai, a spectrum of grey and despair, was tough, but it had been her home – she was just another shadow adrift on the streets, clad in a well worn dotted purple kimono, with a few other unfortunate souls that she has taken to calling friends. It was not good, but it had been good enough – after all, that was all she had ever known. She was happy.That was before she saw Death up-close, claiming her friends like daisies from a field.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Stars Not Fathomed Into Constellations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983538
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13
Collections: Ichiruki week





	An Ocean Filled With Air

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the creators of this fandom, for keeping the flame alive even after all these years (always).
> 
> Big thanks to Alex, Sem and Iulia for sticking with me and my gibberish, and to rcstanescu, my amazing beta reader. Any mistakes that might have slipped are my own.

“We live at the bottom of an ocean filled with air”, Torricelli wrote once, yet she still felt like she was choking, gasping for a little more than hope. The Rukongai, a spectrum of grey and despair, was tough, but it had been her home – she was just another shadow adrift on the streets, clad in a well worn dotted purple kimono, with a few other unfortunate souls that she has taken to calling friends. It was not good, but it had been good enough – after all, that was all she had ever known. She was happy.

That was before she saw Death up-close, claiming her friends like daisies from a field.

Rukia’s slender body was adorned with cuts and bruises, with wrists a little too thin and purple eyes dull with hunger and violence; with her black hair cut short and almost boyish build, she knew she was far from beautiful, far from the graceful ladies she saw sometimes, surrounded by men with unruly hands and feral looks, far from the Shinigamis she sometimes saw scouting the streets for something. Or someone. Rukia did not really care, and did her best to avoid them – that’s what she did best, after all. Staying out of trouble. She had some fight left in her bones, and while she knew she was not pretty, she was alright with that. 

Being pretty was not going to help her survive, and being a shadow was better than not existing at all.

*

Seiretei was beautiful, the seemingly perfect picture you would find on a postcard sent back home, and just as artificial. Cherry blossoms seemed to float infinitely before they finally found their spot on one of the many pathways of the Kuchiki Manor.

Rukia was now a Kuchiki, and as she was attending a ball held by Byakuya-nii-sama, it would be rude not to be a good host, silent and smiling sweetly. Instead of her usual shihakusho, Rukia was wearing a beautiful pink kimono, with a thousand cherry blossoms embroidered on the skirt, but the silk was too heavy on her, and her obi too tight. Straying from the path, Rukia sat quietly on the little wooden bench, reverent. 

No matter how much she tried to cover herself with a veil of darkness, Rukia was well aware that she still stood out like a sore thumb. She wanted to disappear among the stars that she couldn’t even see, but that would bring even more disappointment to Byakuya-nii-sama. Rukia knew that beyond his cold facade, he still had a Hisana-shaped dent in his heart, one that she could not fill, and was not sure that anyone would ever be able to – people were like puzzles undone, and some pieces might be missing still. No one is truly whole.

From her spot on the bench, Rukia could hear Renji approaching. He may be her brother’s lieutenant now, but he was her best friend first and foremost, and could tell him by the cadence of his steps alone. Renji’s attempts to tame his wild hair would have been almost fruitful, had he not had the habit of playing with it whenever he was mildly stressed. And now he seemed really stressed, judging by the fiery spikes that pointed in every possible direction. 

“Rukia?”

“Abarai-Fukutaichou”, she smirked at him with an ease granted by years upon years of friendship. Newly promoted, Renji blushed brightly, and that was just enough for him not to notice the tightness around Rukia’s mouth, the way her eyes gleamed from moisture.

Kuchikis don’t cry. 

Kuchikis don’t complain. 

And above all, Kuchikis don’t show weakness. 

Schooling her features in a most pleasant way, Rukia sighed inwardly as she got up and walked alongside Renji as he did the same, heading to the main house. Upon entering, her purple eyes found Byakuya-nii-sama’s steely grey ones from under slightly furrowed eyebrows. Rukia knew he was displeased, but he nodded as he regarded her for a short moment, turning back to the conversation left unfinished. Renji departed quickly in that direction, probably finding something important to do – Rukia understood, really. She did.

But she also felt dizzy under the lights that seemed to seek her in every corner, leaving her out in the open. Vulnerable. Nameless faces passed in front of her, to which Rukia could only smile politely and nod, a porcelain doll with no support. Everything was spinning, an infernal upside down maze, colours mixing with each other to paint a surrealist picture she did not want to be a part of. 

Slow motion. 

Stop.

Her ears were ringing, but that’s alright, she did not want to hear anything. Rukia just wanted to close her eyes for a second, just a second, and sleep, sleep, sleep.

“Rukia!”

Her eyes popped open at hearing Ukitake-taichou’s voice. She smiled weakly, but was fully aware that her captain wouldn’t be fooled by such an amateurish attempt. He was whispering hushed words in her ear that sounded more like an incomprehensible mess to Rukia, but slowly, she managed to calm down. She spent the rest of the night walking with Ukitake-Taichou, trying to maintain the trademark aloof Kuchiki aura around her like a protective bubble.

She was not a disappointment. 

She was not worthless. 

She. 

Rukia just had to prove it. And as much as she had to prove to everyone else, she had to prove it to herself first.

*

Hunting Hollows was easy as breathing, Sode no Shirayuki an extension of the purity and the violence in her bones. As proficient as she was with kido, Rukia preferred the clash of metal, fueled by adrenaline and a slight suicidal tendency. She knew she was strong, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing like Toshiro’s genius, or Byakuya’s speed, or even Renji’s technique. She was not strong in the physical, classical way, but in the way granted by sheer determination and will to live, even if she didn’t have much to live for. At least she would die an honourable death. 

The shihakusho stuck to her body, skin glistening with sweat. She might have been cold, in another life, one where she was still alive and still cared about such things; people sometimes called her frigid, earning her the nickname Ice Queen, mocking her behind closed doors, when they thought she wouldn’t hear it. That was okay though, Rukia loved winter, and she loved absolutely destroying her adversaries in practice matches. She might have been a Kuchiki, and her edge, while not as sharp as Byakuya-nii-sama’s, had something feral behind that practiced elegance. 

The Hollow moved fast, and she dodged at the last moment. The long range attacks wouldn’t allow her to get close enough to finish it in one strike, so she had to be careful. She grinned as her stray bangs got in her eyes and her pale skin looked almost translucent in the dim light. The moon crowned her head, as she parried, struck, dodged in the familiar pattern of a dance she was just creating. 

Byakuya-nii-sama was born to be a leader, strong and ruthless, but fair. There was no shadow of doubt that he was capable, and a good captain, if the gossip from his division was to be given any credit. Rukia? Rukia didn’t learn how to fight behind closed doors, with perfect form and a cool, detached teacher that would let you try again, and again, and again, until you were good enough. Rukia was messy, but she did what had to be done, and she did it well.

She leaped in the air, spinning slightly from the momentum, landing on a nearby roof. The slates were covered in ice, but Rukia didn’t care much. The Hollow was shaking its head wildly, wobbly on its feet. It was pretty big and size, and while it seemed to have an excellent hearing and a decent enough agility, the howling wind seemed to give it whiplash enough for Rukia to make her move.

It was a clean strike, and it lasted a bit less than Rukia would have wanted, but the job was done. The snowflakes were starting to harden around the edges, freezing on the cuffs of her sleeves. She shook her head, and sat still in the middle of the street, a ghost unseen, afable in the cold morning light. With her head thrown back, Rukia stared at the sky with snow-coated lashes.

Rukia has heard what people said about ‘homes’, and while Byakuya-nii-sama gave her a title and her room in the Kuchiki manor, she never really felt like she belonged. Sometimes, she thought she would never really belong anywhere, caught amid the currents. Sometimes, though, she felt in her soul that she did find a home in all these fleeting moments, when it was cold enough that her fingers burnt and her heart ached. 

Rukia was going to be alright. She always was.

*

Then there was the eternal scowl plastered on the face of one Ichigo Kurosaki, local strawberry and defender of the defenseless. Rukia had stumbled right through his window one day – the boy who saw ghosts saw her.

For the first time in her life, Rukia was powerless, quite literally, she snickered to herself as she basked in the comfort of his closet, you know, like any other normal person. She was a Shinigami still, she knew that, yet instead of the familiar black of the shihakusho, Rukia was wearing a pale yellow dress stolen from one of Ichigo's sisters – probably Yuzu-chan, if Rukia were to take a guess. 

Her gigai was petite, and especially so when she walked alongside Ichigo as he was trying to teach her how to pop open a juice box using the small straw – _it wasn't really her fault that Seiretei didn't have any kind of boxed anything, or straws that small, Strawberry-san, turn that frown upside down or you'll have wrinkles_. 

Ichigo's scowl deepened.

Rukia sighed. He was hopeless.

Still, walking the streets of Karakura covered in sunset, Ichigo's skin glowed golden. It reminded Rukia faintly of someone who had broken her heart a long time ago, a ghost of her own that had finally stopped haunting every corner.

"Hurry up, midget." The scrunch of his eyebrows did not mirror the fondness in his eyes, and Rukia kicked his shin.

"Behave, Strawberry-san, or else I will apologise to Kurosaki-san for having such a rowdy offspring." 

Her words had held no real bite, but Ichigo blushed nonetheless, and looked away. In all his boyish glory, Ichigo was far from the flirt people thought him to be. 

Rukia peeked at Ichigo through the open door of the closet, observing the way he was sprawled over his desk, homework forgotten in a corner. She knew all too well that handling his – technically her – Shinigami duties on top of being a student on the honour roll was wearing Ichigo thin, not that he would ever stop and acknowledge that. Fool.

The table lamp flickered, and raindrops hit the window sill warningly, before the weather broke loose, the pending storm hanging above their heads. 

It started raining.

Ichigo shifted in his sleep, but didn't wake. Quietly, Rukia jumped out of her makeshift bed, landing softly on the hard floor. The sky lit up with the silver streaks of lightning, and Rukia closed the window before the upcoming thunder could break Ichigo’s fragile peace. In a completely un-Kuchiki-like manner, she let out a curse she had learnt back home in the 11th. Or was it Rangiku? _Byakuya-nii-sama, if you can hear this, I swear I didn’t spend my time learning how to curse… It’s a natural ability._

Trying to move Ichigo has proven to be. Challenging, to say the least. The fool absolutely owed her one when he woke up – hopefully, after getting a decent amount of sleep too. Rukia barely managed to get his upper body to lean on the backrest of the chair, when said chair moved backwards and one of the small wheels stubbed her toe.

Rukia hissed, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. Thank whatever deity watched over her that there had not been any kind of similar thing back in Soul Society, because instead of lieutenant she would have probably ended up being a psychopath with homicidal tendencies.

Moving the chair around, Rukia managed to deposit Ichigo in his bed at last, doing her best to fit his sleeping form under the covers. Even in his sleep, Ichigo sometimes frowned and the serene expression of his face crumbled into the same tightness he sported during the day. Maybe he had nightmares, Rukia tried to reason, but couldn’t bring herself to wake him up, not when he finally seemed to fall into a semi-peaceful slumber. Instead, she scoffed and returned quickly to the desk, looked for a pen and started scribbling on a yellow piece of paper, before turning off the lamp. 

Engulfed in darkness, Rukia quietly stepped around the bed, stuck the little post-it note on Ichigo’s forehead, before slipping back into her bed – which was actually his closet, but decisions, decisions. Ignoring the fleeting thought that Byakuya-nii-sama would have an aneurysm knowing that she slept in the closet of a teenage boy, Rukia finally managed to let all the tension go away and closed her eyes.

The next morning, Ichigo was woken by the happy chatter coming from downstairs, Rukia’s voice distinguishing itself from the others. Groggy, he lifted his hands to shield his eyes from the sun, and was surprised to find a wrinkled piece of paper that spelt _You drool in your sleep_ > ヘ< _,_ with a clumsily drawn chappy in the corner.

  
  


*

The classes had just ended, and when Ichigo stayed back to talk to one of his oldest friends, Rukia realised that there were three obvious things about Orihime Inoue, universally acknowledged by anyone with a decent pair of eyes and critical thinking.

The first one was that Orihime was beautiful. Beautiful in that particular way that made girls stare at her in admiration, boys to blush and look away, and other people to just take a moment and wonder how she made the world around her move slower, as if she were in a movie. And Rukia, well. Rukia completely agreed with all of that, used by now to her own plain looking physique, so it didn't really matter. 

Especially not since the second thing was that Orihime was incredibly kind to everyone around her, always having a comforting word at hand. In a way, it seemed like Orihime was born to be the princess in the forsaken castle, waiting for someone to save her just to be met with that shy, sweet smile of hers that was cradled by the corners of her mouth. 

The third thing, though, was that she was utterly and completely smitten with Ichigo, throwing her 'girl next door' charm in his way, following him and appeasing to Ichigo's hero complex, her big doe eyes reflecting the sky above, shining like stars or clear skies – and the worst part was that Ichigo didn't even seem to notice. Or not the worst; neutral maybe? To Rukia it didn't really matter. They both held sunset in their hair and gentleness in their gestures. Rukia was not gentle, or graceful, or even a person you would look at twice.

Recalling a faded dream, she wondered if Ukitake-taichou was feeling alright, and if his hushed words would help the slight nausea that took residence in the pit of her stomach. 

Across the yard from her, Uryuu Ishida caught her eye. The sun hit his glasses just at the right angle to keep his eyes hidden, though it didn't take much of a genius to figure out what he was looking at. Rukia wondered if Uryuu saw the colours buzzing around the golden pair just the way she did.

*

Seeing Byakuya-nii-sama and Renji should have been a happy reunion but alas, Rukia was resigned. And Ichigo, that, that– that FOOL, he thought he could win against a vice-captain of Gotei 13, against her genial brother.

Ichigo's limbs had been bound by the cold chains of his own loyalty. His zanpakuto laid in pieces on the ground before him.

Rukia should have never involved him. Rukia should have never stayed, continuing this farce, thinking that she could finally live the normal life she never got to have.

In front of her eyes, memories flashed and faded, bringing with them Orihime. Uryuu. Chad. Tatsuki. Karin. Yuzu. Kurosaki-san. The fresh lilies in front of a grave.

How could she do this to Kurosaki-san, who has lost the love of his life, never truly recovering from the loss – just for Rukia to come and take away his son too. How could she do this to the twins, who had somehow lost both their mother and their father when they stood in the rain and placed the first fresh flowers in front of Masaki Kurosaki's eternal bed. They had Ichigo, foolish, emotionally constipated, kind, barely older than them himself. Ichigo. 

The very same Ichigo who taught her the greatness of juice boxes, and showed her the best thing humanity had to offer: chappy. The Ichigo who made easy fun of her because she was short, and who got kicked to the shin just as easily. The Ichigo who frowned because he did not know how to smile properly and got shy doing so. The Ichigo who took her to school every day. The Ichigo who read Shakespeare in the little free time he had. The Ichigo who had shown Rukia, his home. 

The Ichigo who thought he could save her.

Why didn't he know that she couldn't be saved? That she was ordinary enough that he didn't have to save her?

Rukia did not really care that much that she stood accused of treason, that she was on the death row. 

She deserved it.

She deserved it, for dimming one of the world's brightest lights.

Her kosode was white, yet Rukia felt tainted.

The ride back to Soul Society went without a hitch, and she was pliant anyway to the commands of Byakuya-nii-sama, who was taking her home for the last time. She brought dishonour upon the family, and Byakuya would face the wrath of the elders – _who would have thought that the street rat he had adopted into the clan would have turned out to be such a bad apple_?

Renji couldn't even look at her. He knew what she had done, he knew that he would be the last one of the lost kids of Rukongai. Rukia's chest swelled with pride when thinking about how far Renji has come, holding his childhood dreams in his palms.

Under the scrutiny of countless eyes, Rukia knew that _they_ knew too, and she could feel it in their gazes. Disdain. Disgust. Confusion.

Pity.

A metallic taste took over as her mouth filled with blood. She had bitten her lip so hard it started to bleed; still, her back was straight and her chin held high. Up until the very last moments, she was a Kuchiki. Kuchikis don't cry, not even from shame. So she was calm, unperturbed even, awake or in sleep, a sleep that would last forever.

The sentence was quickly given and swiftly taken, and Rukia was closed in the dome. It didn't feel like a prison, the emptiness of it reminiscent of her own mind.

Her black hair shone with the stray threads of light that were reflected by the sokyoku through the window from time to time, and her kosode reminded her of snow. 

At least in Death, she could be beautiful, and pure, and adequate.

Even though Rukia had disappointed the Elders, she thought that, for once, she looked like the version of her who could have done things differently.

*

Rukia thought of Ichigo, again. The last time she had seen him, the time he seemed to listen to her. The way he looked at her and the panic and confusion she saw in his eyes, the way she wondered what he saw in hers.

The understanding.

The 'almost' that was suspended between the two of them, but never spoken aloud.

Almost there. Almost possible. Almost made it.

Still, almost was never enough.

*

Once they met in another life, Rukia would kill him. End of discussion.

After the little stunt Ichigo had pulled on the bridge, avoiding Byakuya-nii-sama’s shikai just barely – and, in that same another life Rukia hoped she would get to be reborn into, she really had to thank Lady Shihouin – Rukia had been taken back into the Senzaikyu, her execution moved briefly to the following day.

To say that she was saddened by the newest development would be an overstatement. Rukia felt like she was watching the world unfold before her from between a screen, a universe she was abstract from. 

Her thoughts strayed back to Kaien Shiba, her friend, her captain in a sense, her could-have-been-more-than-that, who died by her own hand. Kaien Shiba who thanked her for letting his heart stay here – though Rukia knew that while she held his heart in her hands, it was never hers to keep. And that was alright, even though she could see Kaien wither and fade away, the echo of his heartbeat resonating in her lungs one last time.

_I am sorry._

But apologies don’t really do much more than showing the extent to which you were sorry for yourself.

  
  


The next morning brought with her a sense of sorrow. Rukia was tied and brought to face the music she had so cheerfully played; in front of her then stood the taichou of the 3rd, Gin Ichimaru, cruel smirk accentuated by the venomous bite his words had. His thin build and squinted eyes only reminded Rukia of a snake, one whose head she would step on with no second thought.

That other life was going to be pretty damn full, if you asked Rukia.

Slowly, a small crowd came closer, and Rukia could eventually distinguish Byakuya, whose complete dismissal of her somehow brought her heart at peace. Maybe she would not be forgiven, but Rukia knew she would not be forgotten either. She had done her best, even if it was not enough, and after being granted her last wish that the ryoka would arrive safely back into the human world after she was gone, Rukia felt free, despite being thoroughly restrained.

Home is where your heart is, indeed. And in her heart, Rukia knew that she had no regrets, that she was ready. The world could finally go back to normal, without her to disturb it.

At last, the sokyoku moved towards her.

  
  


At this point, Rukia didn’t even know what appalled her more, the fact that dumbass Ichigo and his dumb hero complex hit again and tried to save her _again_ , or the fact that apparently she was the host of a hogyoku and no one bothered to tell her. That was at least a bit rude, even if there was an obscenely small number of people who knew about it, and that she was basically on the verge of death every other moment. 

Once again, she was a pawn in somebody else’s game, a piece moved against her own will on a board painted in ploys and secrets, without ever being told the rules.

And then Byakuya-nii-sama almost died for her, the tip of Ichimaru’s zanpakuto piercing his body, making blood bloom on his hakama. Rukia felt numb.

Around her, everything turned to chaos, and as selfish as that was, Rukia could only think that people cared about her, people hurt for her; she was still so ready to die, but something… shifted. 

Renji fought for her, fought to save her, and defied the authority figures he had respected so much. For her.

Byakuya-nii-sama was close to paying the ultimate price for a sister he had not even bargained for. He had faced the wrath of the high society for bringing a street rat into the clan all those years ago, and he still refused to let Rukia die.

Even Chad, Orihime and Uryuu came after her in a place foreign to them, against their nature. Yes, they came because they trusted Ichigo and were his friends, but Rukia was glad that Ichigo was not alone, despite his stubborn obliviousness to notice that.

And Ichigo. Oh, Ichigo.

He had fought his way through Soul Society, he went against every rule that existed, maybe even invented new rules just so he could go against them, to save her. He had found his way to her, and when his amber eyes met her amethyst ones, there was a little more than the mere words that had been spared. His scowl finally relaxed and oh. His smile. How had she failed to notice his smile before?

If he kissed her forehead when he gathered her into his arms at the end, not a single soul has commented on it.

*

_“See you around, Rukia.”_

_“I wonder how many times I’ve heard you say that before.”_

_“This isn’t going to be the last time, so who cares how many times I say it?”_

*

It was way too late to be up on a school night, but the sky above spelt the words left unsaid with stars. On the rooftop, close enough but still not touching, laid a tiny Shinigami and an annoying strawberry. 

Laying on her side, Rukia stole glances at Ichigo who, with his arms folded behind his head, looked at the stars. She looked at the soft crease of his forehead, the barely visible line of his muscles flexing as he moved slightly, his eyes shining from with the dim lights of the street lamps on the street below. 

“Like what you see, midget?”

Rukia blushed furiously, thankful for the lack of visibility.

“Who said I was looking at you, fool?!”

“You did, just now,” he teased, turning his head to her. Whatever remark might have been concocting in Rukia’s head was wiped away by his smile, softening his features. He turned so he could face her and touched her cheek gently. 

His hand was warm.

Rukia looked at him, truly looked at him, seeing him just as he was – a young man who held her with so much tenderness, careful not to break her, a young man who was not perfect, and did not let that stop him from trying. 

“May I?” he whispered just enough for them and the skies to hear, and she closed the distance, pressing her lips on his, softly. 

Call her a walking cliche, but he was warm and tasted like everything good in the world. He cupped her cheek, bringing Rukia closer, closer, until there was no space left between them. She brought her hands to his chest, fingers tracing their way into his soft hair, pulling gently. He gasped into the kiss, and it sounded just as beautiful as he was in everything that he did.

They broke away panting slightly, and Ichigo laughed breathlessly. Puzzled and slightly embarrassed, she slapped him lightly on the arm.

“Why are you laughing, idiot?”

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are to me. There is no one quite like you, Rukia.”

He laid flat on his back, and she cuddled closer to him, putting her head on his chest – his heart was thrumming in his chest, wild and erratically, and somehow, that brought her at peace.

“I will always find my way to you, Rukia. You” – he broke off, his voice filled with something Rukia couldn't name, but felt just the same – " You have stopped the rain. "

She revered in the vibrations in his chest. “ I am no damsel in distress, Ichigo, but. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me a chance. Speaking of, if meeting you was a matter of taking a chance, I would do it again.”

And again.

And again.

Until the ocean of air filling their lungs would empty itself and make space for all the seeping love that their hearts could not contain.

**Author's Note:**

> " Ew, gross! "  
> " Is that what you tell Nii-Sama when he tries to kiss you on the patio, Renji? Besides, the walls of the mansion are thin."  
> If Abarai Renji, fukutaichou of the 6th, disappeared in less than three seconds, that was absolutely just for showcasing his skill as a Shinigami, and definitely not because he was running away.
> 
> As everybody knows, if you like it, you should put a Kenseikan on it.


End file.
